


Masks

by pixiedurango



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Comfort, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sadness, Talking, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Hissing Wastes a conversation about one of the Orlesian Masks suddenly goes deeper for the Seeker and the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loewen_grube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loewen_grube/gifts).



> This is my second work for the skilltrade I have with Lumen and I entangled myself already way too deep into shipping this two nerds.  
> There is still nothing like a true romance but we all know you cannot stop the train once it is running...

“I will never get what you find with this masks, Mithiin.”

Night had fallen over the Hissing Wastes and the camp was quiet.

The Seeker and the Inquisitor were the only still awake, beside the pioneers who were on their duty patrols to make the night save for the Inquisition party.

Sitting close by the campfire for light and warmth because desert nights tended to be as cold as the days were hot.

With surprisingly nimble hands Cassandra Pentaghast was mending her armor. Just taking little breaks for sipping on some steaming herbal tea, Mithiin had brewed earlier and never got tired to refill her friends mug.

The Elfen Inquisitor had spread out on her numnah, resting her head on her saddle packs.

First she had watched the sky and the countless stars above them for a long time of silence. Their silence had become comfortable lately. Nothing to compare with all the awkward moments of not knowing what to say or if it even was necessary to say anything.

The reason for Cassandra to ask was in Mithiins hands: A beautiful crafted Orlesian mask from sheer silverite. So delicate one could almost expect to see through the metal. But this was only an effect caused by the outstanding craftsmanship and the magic working within the material. The flickering light of the campfire reflected from the shiny surface, throwing warm orange flashes into the dark and dancing on Mithiins face.

Cassandra had noticed it. Of course she had.

Calling her self back to order when she realized she had been watching for longer than appropriate. Had watched how light and dark played on Mithiins face and how the Inquisitors eyes sparkled when the reflection hit them.

There was nothing wrong to admire beautiful things. Moments. Persons.

Cassandra assured her self that she did nothing wrong. But staring was never appropriate. So she had forced her eyes away. Focusing back on the awl and the thong in her hand, which she used to mend bigger snags on the non plated parts of her armor.

“Don’t you see how pretty it is?” now Mithiin finally replied to Cass’ former question.

“Well I can value how delicate it is crafted, yes.” Cassandras voice sounded reluctant. “Like the fine laces my grandmother tatted. I had them all over my dresses when I was a child.”

Mithiin turned her face and giggled in surprise. “I can’t believe. You have ever fancied dresses?”

“Well, as a Nevarran noble offspring it is expected to do so.” The warrior replied a bit indignant.

Mithiin was still shaken by giggles. She stretched her hand out and came to rest on Cassandras forearm. She was too distracted to recognize how Cass’ muscles tensed under skin and sleeve just by the touch.

“Sorry, friend.” Mithiin managed to snort out finally. “I did not intend to hurt your feelings, nor am I laughing at you.” For a moment Cassandras brows furrowed and her nose ridged. She had a snappy reply at hand but she bit her tongue. Literally.

She knew, Mithiin would never try to hurt her on purpose; and to be honest _no one_ ever would expect her in a dress – whether as a child or now. People had that impression of her. And she was not innocent of painting it exactly this way. So she had no reason to be angry with the Inquisitor.

“I would appreciate if that would stay between me and you.” Cassandra asked instead and Mithiin became serious again. She suddenly seemed to become aware that her hand was still on Cass’ forearm and she flinched with a little hint of awkwardness and the Seeker would have bet more than a copper that she was blushing in the flickering firelight.

“Of course Cassandra.” Mithiin answered a bit rushed and turned her eyes back onto the mask.

Cassandra wondered if the other woman sometimes also got lost by watching her under lowered eye lids. Almost she was about to ask that but again she called her self to order. How could she dare to imply something like this! Instead she asked: “So, it’s just the beauty that fascinates you?” Cassandra came back to her earlier question chin-nodding towards the mask. “Or is there more to it?”

Mithiin sighed. “Sometimes it’s easier, don’t you think?” she asked.

“What? Wearing such a thing?” Cassandra let out one of her disgruntled noises she was so famous for. “I have nothing to hide.” She stated.

Mithiin raised an eyebrow but still smiling. “Is that so?”

“What do you mean?”

Cassandra let her tools and armor sink down into her lap and her stare would have scared the crap out of anybody – but not Mithiin. She just smiled a witty little smile.

“Look, Cassandra. I played the Game. And I hate it. Going back there” she referred to the ball at Halamshiral. „Was about the worst horror possible. But I did it. Because I had to.”

“And you did well, Mithiin.” Cassandra assured her.

“And the mask helped me. It’s not by accident, the Orlesians made it custom to wear them.”

“Fair enough.” The warrior admitted. “But does it not make it harder to read your opponent as well?”

“When you fight. Do you need to watch the face of your enemy?” Mithiin asked back. Cassandra squinted a bit confused then shook her head.

“No. I read their body. Their motions. Their reflexes. The way they turn their head and how their legs are bending. For example.”

Mithiin smiled. “Same thing. See, war has different faces but the basic rules continue to stay the same.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra stretched the word and nodded approvingly. “So where is the point then in wearing a mask? If any contender is aware and capable of reading the others signals?”

“Precaution? Like armor?” Mithiin shrugged. “Maybe you’ll meet someone more skilled than you. You’ll be glad to have put on your armor today so it can protect you.”

Now Cassandra was the one smiling. Approving that Mithiin found examples that made her understand better. “I’ll always prefer the direct approach.” She mused. “Facing an opponent with a sword in my hand seems so much easier compared to playing the Game.”

“Sometimes we cannot choose…” Mithiin replied.

“And then we just do it.” Cassandra finished her sentence.

“And then we just do it.” The Inquisitor agreed.

They went silent again. Listening to the sounds of the desert night. The bristling fire, the never ending elegy of the howling wind and the soothing sounds their mounts made while huffing and stamping and still chewing on their daily ration of hay and herbs.

Eventually Cassandra stretched out her hand and softly took the mask from Mithiins hand.

The silverite was surprisingly warm and the dark velveteen ribbons, meant to be tied at the back of the head to hold the mask , were soft when she slid them through her fingers. She had no intention to try it on.

Cassandra took a closer look and almost flinched, when she saw her own face mirrored from the shiny polished material with its filigree embossing . Blurred and seemingly moving she saw her self in a bizarre grimace and she was almost terrified for a moment until she called her self foolish to let herself scare from a mere reflection and some light and shadow play.

“You know what I think?” Cassandra was thankful for Mithiins soft voice and dragged her eyes away from the mask and the unpleasant pictures it brought to her mind.

“Tell me!” she replied.

“I think, we _all_ wear masks. Every one and every moment.”

“I…” Cassandra was already to object but Mithiin cut her, though still with a soft and soothing voice..

“Even _you_ , my friend. And it is nothing bad. I believe, we need them to protect our selves.”

“Explain!” Cassandra demanded and was not sure she really wanted to hear it and she hated to hear that edge of a tremble in her own voice.

Mithiin sat up. Strains of her blond hair had freed themselves from the braid she used to wear in the fields and she shoved them behind her ear in an unconscious gesture. Cassandra could not help to notice the natural grace but pushed away any further thoughts on that and forced her self to listen to Mithiins words. “We are who we are.” The Elf eventually began to explain. She seemingly needed to assemble her self for a moment until she was able to proceed. “But we rarely allow anybody to see completely beyond. I think we do this because we are afraid of getting hurt. So we are putting on masks. Strong. Confident. Knowing. Happy. Witty. We need that because we are vulnerable. And because we have to lead and are supposed to be strong.“

“Speak for your self, Inquisitor!” Cassandra demanded, harsher than she had intended. Already knowing that denial was pointless.

Mithiin shook her head. “I speak in general. About me. You. Everyone.”

Cassandra sighed. She knew Mithiin was right. “But isn’t this lying?” She asked, wondering how she got into such an almost metaphysical argument.

“What do _you_ think?” Mithiin asked her back instead of giving a fast answer. “Not telling everything to everybody is not much different to how we show our selves to others. I mean you would not show yourself in your undergarments in front of people you don’t know.”

Now it was Cassandra who blushed. But she got the point.

“When I lead a command of soldiers and we need to work together really close, I don’t care if the see me bathe in my smalls…”

“You _trust_ them.” Mithiin nodded. Cassandra agreed with a nod her self., still feeling her cheeks burn. How in Andrastes name she had thrown her self into discussing her smalls with the Inquisitor? She was almost smiling when the other continued to speak and both women could not know that the next words would change worlds for them.

“Sometimes you trust even _more_ …” Suddenly Mithiins voice was low and could not hide her sadness. The Elf stared at her hands entwined in her lap. Without wanting it, she had reminded her self on recent events without wanting it and the still lingering sadness had hit her again like a cold black wave and she felt like drowning in it.

Cassandra was petrified for a moment.

Of course she knew about the Inquisitors sad love story - and its abrupt end - with Solas the Elfen Apostate in the ranks of Inquisition. She had never indulged herself on gossip but no one at Skyhold had been able to withdraw from the spreading news about how the Inquisitor had returned from what should have been a sweet time together and had turned out as an emotional disaster. Cassandra had no clue what had happened and did not intend to learn about it. But seeing now the sudden sadness on Mithiins face made her own heart wrench and she was sure it would not have been ended very healthy if Solas would have been around right now. But after the mentioned incident Mithiin had stopped assigning the Elfen Apostate to any missions and had left him to his own studies of what ever in the rotunda in the basement of Skyholds raven tower.

Without further thinking, the seeker slipped next to Mithiin who still was sitting on her numnah, seemingly caught in deep thoughts. Cassandra raised one arm and before she could realize what she was doing, she had slung it around Mithiins shoulders. The Elf did not only not object she even let her head rest against Cassandras shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, my friend.” Cass managed to say and Mithiin swallowed.

“Don’t be. Nothing happens without a reason.” She said with a low voice but a little spark of hope in it. “I just have to find that trust again.” One little hand came to rest on Cassandras thigh and the seeker almost held her breath for a moment.

Before she knew what she did, Cassandra had buried her face in Mithiins hair. Strangely allured by the subtle scent of leather, autumn and herbs. The seeker realized that this was nothing she would usually or even easily had done. Being close to someone – no matter if in a physical or mental way - was nothing Cassandra Pentaghast allowed herself fast. But this had come so natural and from within and it felt that also Mithiin appreciated being not alone in this moment. Cassandra decided she welcomed the closeness and the comfort of another goodhearted soul so close to her own. She only could hope that she had not crossed any boundaries. “We all are hoping to find that trust again, once we lost it, Inquisitor.” Cassandra whispered as if she feared anybody could hear her words.

They fell quiet again. Still sitting closer than they ever had.

Cassandras arm still slung around Mithiins shoulders and for the first time ever their touch was not by accident but by intention and will.

The Hissing Wastes were still howling their never ending song of cold emptiness in the blackest of nights. But it could not bother them anymore. They had given the other a glimpse behind their masks. And they knew it was right.

 


End file.
